Bullets and Bite Marks
by TheNightinGaleTurk
Summary: Complete smut. John comes home to Sherlock... in a rather strange position. All warnings in place. If you don't like Johnlock and lots of moaning, this isn't for you.


All warnings in place. Song playing through the fanfic is Undisclosed Desires by Muse.

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John stepped into the little house of 221 Baker Street and his eyebrows furrowed almost instantly. There was music playing that definitely not a violin. He'd heard it someone where before and swallowed as he walked up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was out visiting her grandchildren so it wouldn't be her. Even she _did_listen to that sort of music. "Sherlock?" He called out; the music was loud but not enough to hurt his ears.

The moment John stepped foot into the flat he felt his body pushed and pinned against the door, effectively closing it with a slam. His eyes widened and his heart began to race. "What... Sherlock, what are you doing?!" Sherlock looked down at him, "I could say a number of things right now... But none of which you would believe me if I told you…" Sherlock breathed, "I don't... I don't understand..." he muttered, leaning back into the door and staring up at his flat-mate. He leaned down, "If this were a better time, I'd take advantage of it. But there is a trip wire in the kitchen and a sniper trained on us if we move..." He whispered huskily.

"Wait... what? Advantage? Sherlock, what the hell is going on?" John swallowed nervously, eyes frantically scanning the room before they returned to Sherlock's. Sherlock was pressed up against him so much that John could feel something poking him that certainly wasn't a gun. "Forgive me, but I believe someone has spiked the drinks in this house. We should leave, or you should shoot the sniper while I stop the explosives in our kitchen." His face was dangerously close to John's now. To the point that the shorter man could smell the peppermint tea on Sherlock's breath.

John couldn't help but lick his lips, releasing a shaky breath before sending a brief look down towards his thigh. "They certainly spiked it with something rather...erm... strong. And I just bought that damn tea yesterday..." he mumbled in attempt to distract himself. It wasn't working. John could feel his body start to heat drastically and it certainly didn't help that Sherlock's own warmth was melding with his. "You? Stopping explosives? You'll probably get us killed and I have absolutely no idea where the sniper is- and must you be so damn_ close_?"

Sherlock grinned, running his lips over John's cheek so slightly that the other man wasn't sure he felt it at all. "Why yes... if we get too far apart the sniper might get you." He chuckled and pulled John's gun out of his side holster. "Have I ever told you how much I love a man that carries a big gun?" A shutter ran up John's spine and he swore Sherlock had pushed harder into him. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins and it didn't help his situation at all. "I think you've effectively covered the 'too far apart' thing and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And you, for that matter," he said quietly, his hand instantly reaching and grabbing Sherlock's as he felt him take it out. The other reached to grip the front of the man's collar tightly as he spoke in a low, slightly raspy tone. "No, you haven't, actually. What are you doing?"

"Me? I'm just taking your gun out to shoot the sniper before he shoots one of us." He said with a grin that bordered between sadistic and gleeful. "Why don't you take care of that bomb before we go _boom_." He laughed lightly, wiggling his eyebrows up. He was so high and sexually turned on by the situation he wanted to just grab John and drag him to the bedroom, sod the sniper and the bomb both. The music was pounding to drown out their voices just in case the house was wired with listening devices as well and he loved the beat making his mind blur.

"You're bloody insane, Sherlock, and totally off your rocker. Besides, you won't be able to shoot the sniper with that. Not with any sort of effective aim..." he gritted out. His toes were curling in his shoes and there was something so absolutely arousing from the situation that he thought that a lot more than just the bomb could 'go boom'. "How do you suppose that I'm going to take care of that damn bomb, Sherlock? Give me the gun." Sherlock smirked before walking over to the window, aiming and firing a single shot into the apartment across the street. The man who was sitting in plain sight [like a complete moron] screamed and fell to the floor.

The shooter struggled up from where he'd fallen holding his bleeding shoulder. His mouth was hanging open; soon as he saw Sherlock wink at him he screamed and ran. The taller walked over to the bomb to examine it. "How dull, I was expecting something more... entertaining. Shall you cut the wire of its restraint or should I?" He said the words like he was caressing them with his tongue. John fought between letting out a whine, grabbing the man and clocking him in the face, or letting out a groan of sheer exasperation as he watched the man easily stride over and shoot the man before cautiously stepping out into the living room. He looked around carefully before following the taller man into the kitchen. "Oh yes, bombs. Dull, not explosive enough for your taste, then? You're beyond high right now, Sherlock, let me..."

Sherlock winked again as John bent down and drank from a tea cup off to the side. "Whatever this is laced with tastes magnificent... would you like some?" He droned huskily, feeling his pants very tight around him. "I must say that jumper is one of your worst... We should get it off of you as soon as possible." John snipped the wire just as he heard Sherlock slurp from his mug and instantly snapped back up. "Sherlock! What the hell are you doing? No I wouldn't like some and -" his voice caught in his throat, a flush rising to his cheeks as he tried to stand up as straight as possible before gesturing to Sherlock's very obvious tent in his trousers.

"I think you've had more than enough of that stuff for the both of us and for the record you bought me this jumper. I think the more... _pressing_ issue here really is in your pants." Sherlock grinned evilly and glanced down at the 'problem'. "Oh, did I buy you that? I didn't remember. I'd still prefer it off though... And if my pants are such a _pressing_ issue, why don't you take them off of me and take care of the problem?" John's eyebrows rose and he crossed his arms in front of his chest with a smirk. "It's a pressing issue for you, Sherlock. I don't see why I have to take care of it. Besides, you're going to have to do a much better job than that especially considering that we both could have just been killed. Most likely because of something you've done."

Sherlock downed the entire cup of tea and physically shivered, "Me? Why do you always blame me, my dear Watson?" He came up to him and let a finger trace around the man's shoulders and down his spin as he walked around him. Almost like a predator did to prey until he stopped and put said finger under his chin. He leaned down and let John taste the sweet drug on his lips, enjoying the feelings he was getting. John shivered and felt oddly like he was being regarded as Sherlock's next meal (he hadn't eaten for almost a week and that fact alone provided enough support for his theory). The fingers down his spine felt like they left his skin on fire beneath his jumper in their wake. He was about to say something when he felt Sherlock's lips on his and then he essentially said, "Screw it" and pressed their lips together. Sherlock was right. "That does taste remarkable... or maybe that's just you..." he muttered.

"Hrm... how about another taste, just to make sure it wasn't your imagination. We can't let a good deduction go unfinished…" Sherlock muttered, his light blue eyes glazed with lust. His hand skimmed until it was holding his lower back and the other found its way into John's hair. John let out a soft grunt as he was pulled closer. "Sherlock..." he muttered, leaning up and sucking on the man's lower lip. "I still can't tell, but there is definitely something not Sherlock in there... Although, how do I know this isn't the drug acting, speaking...?"

Sherlock bit John's lip gently, lowering his hand to the point where he could grab a hand-full of John's nicely rounded left ass cheek. His hand clasped his hair and knotted it, "What if I said there wasn't a drug at all and I have a need powerful enough to bring down the house if I don't have you? I've waited four years and I don't think I can hold on any longer..." John gasped, reaching forward and grabbing Sherlock by the collar and pulling him closer. "I would bloody well kill you... _later_... after you show me just how much you've wanted me. You're an idiot for waiting so long," he growled out, reaching up and pressing their lips together again without any restraint.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin as he pushed deeper into the kiss, licking John's lips for entrance. When granted, he let his tongue slip in and explore the other man's mouth. He traced it and memorized every spot that made him groan. The taller slightly moved his hips to grind into the other man. "You don't know what you do to me." John wound his arms around the taller, clutching at his shirt and weaving his fingers into Sherlock's dark curls and tugging gently. He let out a very obvious moan as he felt Sherlock's hips dip and grind into his and pulled the man flush against him. "I think I do... Bloody hell, Sherlock," he groaned out between meeting Sherlock's tongue with his, the muscles trying to wrap around each other as if they really couldn't be close enough.

"We should take this to the bedroom now we don't scar the neighbors more than we already have..." Sherlock moaned, he didn't care about them but he knew John would have his head if they brought it up to him later. He grabbed the man's ass hard and let the other hand skim up his shirt, feeling the pectorals. "Shit, Sherlock..." John growled, pushing into the hand on his chest and already working Sherlock's buttons. "Sod it," he mumbled and began pushing Sherlock through the kitchen and into his bedroom. He promptly guided them to the bed and pushed Sherlock down, crawling on top of him and once against pressing their lips together hard, almost feverishly and full of hunger. He continued fumbling with the buttons on the man's tight shirt. "God, Sherlock, how the hell do these not end up flying off when you move? You're shirts are so tight..."

"Hrm, I haven't been shopping in a while for fitting shirts... complaining?" He smirked and helped the man with the buttons, using practiced fingers to get into the fabric of the silk like purple shirt. "Not at all, although I get rather jealous of the looks you get from other people." He quickly pushed the shirt off of Sherlock's shoulders, his hands feeling down the man's chest and stomach before trailing up his sides. "Not at all, although I get rather jealous of the looks you get from other people." He quickly pushed the shirt off of Sherlock's shoulders, his hands feeling down the man's chest and stomach before trailing up his sides.

"Jealous? I doubt it; you have women hanging on you." Sherlock said leaning up to recapture his lips and he kicked off his shoes as an afterthought, shivering under the doctor's touch. John's tongue slid across the back of his teeth and he followed suit, his shoes falling atop of Sherlock's. "Distractions to keep my mind off of you," he mumbled between feverish kisses. "And do you even realize how people look at you? It's like you're Adonis."

"Hrm? I would not relate me to one rumored to be so handsome..." He flipped them over with surprising strength for being so thin now he was on top of John. "What would you have me do, John? Suck your cock into my mouth?" He licks his neck, biting it softly. "Or let me take you... maybe you take me..." He growled, sucking ever so slightly on his ear lobe before biting it too. "Oh, fuck..." John let out a moan, his hips bucking into Sherlock's without any restraint and he was sure the detective was lifted off his knees momentarily. "God, Sherlock..." he could feel his trousers tighten around him, already almost painfully hard as he tilted his neck to expose more flesh to Sherlock's skillful mouth. His hand felt down his chest to the sensitive area just below his navel, fingers through the soft, short hairs that trailed under the band of his trousers.

Sherlock was lifted off the bed and he was_ not_ complaining about it. He leaned down, "I think I will make you cum a few different ways tonight, doctor..." He said as he slid down to where his pants started and took the zipper between his teeth. Making sure John was watching him; he eased the piece of metal down, painfully slow. John let out a growl, eyes piercing into Sherlock's light-blues and wanting to tell him to hurry the hell up but the sight was... well, he almost came right there. His hand reached out to once again weave into the man's dark curls, tugging just hard enough not to cause any pain as his own head snapped back onto the bed. "Christ, Sherlock, I want you... I've fucking wanted you for-for too long..." he managed to groan out.

Sherlock finished what he was doing with the zipper and growled out as he undid the button of John's trousers with his teeth also. Soon as he did he used his hands to pull the pants off in one swift motion. The term Mycroft had used on him, 'virgin', had never been so misused. He smirked at the red boxers and ripped them off as well, revealing John's manhood. "Beg for it..." John let out a groan, his hands clenching into the covers of his bed, his toes curling. He wasn't prone to begging - ever - but there was a first time for everything. One day he'd be the first person to have Sherlock beg for mercy and he'd swell with pride (in more than one way). Right now, though, his arousal was twitching and he was practically writhing under Sherlock's grip. "God, Sherlock, please..." he managed to grit out, a film of sweat already covering his skin.

Sherlock would have grinned if he could, but alas his mouth was full. He suck hard on the head of John's sex, running his tongue down the lower side of it, using one hand to massage his balls and using his canine to stimulate the opening at the top. "Calm down, doctor…" He soothed, taking a breath. Pushing his lips over the cap, swirling his tongue against his salty urethra opening in the top, John tensed. Sherlock hummed around the flesh, making his breath catch and his back arch. He wanted to give John a hard orgasm at first, before he took him that is. The taller stopped teasing the slit in the glans and took his shaft down his throat. Curling his tongue around the underside and stroking it as he went. Sherlock had never been so glad he'd actually researched something for once.

"Sherlock!" John almost screamed and he came into his throat. Sherlock swallowed it and licked his lips. The taste was surprisingly bitter. He crawled up toward the man again, capturing his lips and whispered, "Are you ready?" He resisted the take him right then and there. John looked him in the eye. "I've been ready." That was all the incentive he needed. "Prop your legs on my shoulders," he purred. John did as he asked and Sherlock folded his legs under him and scooted closer as he reached between the blonde's thighs. He gently stroked the exposed, puckered ring of pink flesh with his slick fingers from his own precum and it tightened for a moment before John consciously relaxed.

The inviting way the blonde loosened up told Sherlock that he was very ready and willing for this. He eased the tip of one finger in and pushed, studying the smaller man's features as he breached him. John's teeth worried his lower lip and he quivered a little around the digit, but he didn't resist him. Sherlock wasted no more time. He rocked forward and filled the blonde with his aching length, slowly and steadily. John's head fell back and his breath exploded from his mouth with a low cry. His eyes went blank and he wondered just how deep Sherlock could go before he was finally in all the way. The detective didn't stop. It was intense. The stretching, the hardness, the heat of him… John was sure he was going to die right then and there.

His nerves screamed with pleasure as Sherlock's rigid flesh slid against that spot inside of him. Sherlock bent over him, pushing his legs further back and apart as he filled him completely. He thrust hard making John scream each time he hit his prostate. John groaned, and his arms tightened around Sherlock's neck as he started coming hard. He sucked in another ragged breath and let it out again in a long, unbroken moan. "John!" Sherlock groaned shakily, kissing his arching throat with loving sweeps of his mouth. He cupped the back of the blonde's head and held him to his chest, closing his eyes as the smaller man's cries of pleasure shivered over his skin. He kept pumping his hips with smooth, steady strokes and when John's trembling eased and his cries died away. Sherlock orgasmed hard enough to see black spots, and split himself. John let out another cry and they rode it together.

Sherlock laid his head on John's shoulder as they uncoiled from each other and withdrew from his cock from the other man. The phone rang from the living room while they caught their breath again. "That's undoubtedly Lestrade about to inform me that our sniper just turned himself in." John breathed a satisfied sigh and let a hand run through Sherlock's hair, "And why would he do that? The sniper, I mean." Sherlock pulled back and smiled at him, planting a softer, loving kiss on John's lips. "I've heard my winks cause people to do things they wouldn't normally do." He said softly as a smooth thumb caressed his cheek as he looked down at him. "I think I can agree with that." John said softly, with a soft smile on his face.


End file.
